


Pretty Blue Eyes

by therealfroggy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:06:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/therealfroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did House manage to find a turtleneck that so <em>perfectly</em> matched his eye colour? You'd almost think he was... Well... Not straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Blue Eyes

“Well, House. I never took you for the type.”

“Of course you didn't; I am a master of disguise.”

Cameron looked up from her microscope, just in time to see House roll his eyes and pop another Vicodine.

“What type?” she asked, lowering her eyes to the lenses again.

“The pansy type,” Chase said, looking obnoxiously smug.

“The what?” Foreman was frowning.

“Translate, please, we don't speak _Aussie_ Snot,” House said, kicking back in his chair and placing his feet comfortably on the table.

“A dandy, or fop. Effeminate,” Chase said, “look it up in a dictionary.” He then picked up the report folder and turned to leave. “I'll start him on steroids, shall I?”

Foreman shrugged and turned back to his paperwork. Cameron was already deep into her examination of the patient's saliva. She just couldn't figure out what he'd been taking!

“Effeminate? Nobody's used that word in a century and a half!” House exclaimed, getting up from his desk. Grabbing his cane with annoyance, he followed the younger man out the door, heading for the clinic.

“What does it mean?” Foreman shouted after him, his interest piqued by House's sudden departure.

“Look it up!” was the shouted reply, accompanied by the quick _thud-thud-thud_ of his cane disappearing down the hall.

Foreman was reaching for the dictionary on the shelf, but Cameron was already there. Leafing quickly through the ´P` section, she frowned. “Pansy's a flower. Why would he call House the flower type?”

“Try effeminate,” Foreman said, reading over his shoulder.

“Effeminate... Feminine qualities, blah blah blah, sexual nonconformity, often implying...” She trailed off, mouth gaping. “Oh no. He did _not_ just call House gay?”

***

“Come in!” Gregory House didn't even bother turning off the small, portable television set. Someone came in, closing the door behind them.

“And what is your trivial problem, with which you are intending to waste at least fifteen minutes of my time today?” he said, watching with mild interest as Suzy smiled coyly at doctor what's-his-name. She was never going to marry him!

“Are you always this rude to your patients, or are you just in a bad mood for having been outed? Was the closet really that comfortable?”

House arched incredulous eyebrows at the little upstart Australian standing in the middle of his office with a smile as smug as if he'd just been appointed chairman of the board of directors.

“I am always this rude; all, of course, because I am a miserable old drag queen who can no longer perform due to the damage to my leg. It really bums me out.”

“Oh, come on, _Greg_ ,” Chase smirked, his lips curling evilly around the name. “You didn't think I knew? You could as well wear a sign; your whole persona just screams ´suppressed gay tendencies!` The turtle-neck is just the tip of the ice berg.”

“And since when did a turtle-neck sweater indicate homosexuality?” House asked, his fingers gripping his chin thoughtfully. “I didn't see many of them on Elton or, oh, what's his name, Liberace?”

“It's the colour, you puff,” Chase laughed. “A straight man would not chose that colour; not in a million years!”

House glared at his younger employee. “Says the man with a _pink_ shirt in his wardrobe. Why this colour?”

“It matches your eye colour perfectly, _and_ you know it,” Chase said, winking teasingly at House before leaving his office.

***

“Got a lot to do?”

Chase looked up from the intravenous tube, finding House standing in the door, leaning on the wall. “Well, yes, I'm with a patient.”

“Good. Hand him over to Foreman. We're going out for drinks,” House said, limping around the bed to check Mr. Geddy's values. “A right prune this one, I see. Give him milk and cookies; might help with the weight loss.”

“It's only six thirty!” Chase said, astounded.

“Well, then sneak him some, so his mummy won't notice,” House said. “I'm sure he'll still want dinner.”

“I meant the drinks,” Chase replied tartly. “Geddy's getting the sweets through a needle in his arm for the next three days.”

“Well, if we're going to drink as much as we are going to, we should start early,” was his only reply. Not one to argue against House on such matters, he shrugged and paged Foreman.

***

“What are you having? And please don't say Cosmopolitans; I'll kill myself.”

“I'll be having a Tom Collins, than you very much,” Chase said, miffed. He did not drink Cosmos! _Who drinks Cosmos? What's he thinking! Only girls drink Cosmos!_

“Tom Collins for you. Tequila for me.”

The older man disappeared, then returned to their table some minutes later with a tray.

“You really are getting pissed, aren't you?” Chase said, staring at the seven shot glasses, the salt cellar and the small plate of lemon slices on House's side of the tray.

House looked down at his tray, then set it down in the middle of the table. “It's only seven.”

“Now,” he suddenly said, pausing to down a shot with neither salt nor lemon. “What gave me away?”

Chase blinked. “You're not going to deny it?”

“Already tried, didn't work,” House said, looking disappointed. “Seems you're not an idiot after all. Well. Not as much as Foreman and Cuddy, anyway.”

Chase stared at his boss, who downed another shot. This time, he picked up a lemon slice and sucked on it pensively after swallowing the tequila.

“Cameron knows?”

“Who said she knows?” House scoffed. “She's just easier to fool, being a woman. I told her I hired her because she was so pretty and she won't ever suspect a thing.”

“That's very sexist,” Chase remarked, taking a large gulp of his drink. “And why did you hire her for her looks when you're queer?”

“Beautiful women who choose to work instead of marry rich or model, work harder than most,” House said, leaving Chase confused. The older man didn't care.

“But you're avoiding the question. What gave me away?”

“My Gaydar is infallible,” Chase said, smirking. “But for the record, you're bitter, angry, alone, and sex-less. Furthermore, you play the piano, listen to classical music, read more than any normal physician I know, enjoy soap operas, and you always choose your sweaters and shirts to bring out or match your eye colour. Not to mention, your relationship to that cane, which is clearly a phallic symbol...”

At this point, House could not help but smile. Chase gaped. He'd never seen the older man do that; not once in the three years he'd known him! Not like that; free of irony and spite, just natural and unrestrained.

“You've done your homework,” House conceded. “But not good enough. I once lived with someone. That someone being a woman. And of our sex life you know nothing.”

“Don't need to,” Chase said, still looking smug. “You're still sex-less and bitter. And that is most definitely not normal in a man of your age, status, intelligence and looks.”

House cocked his head to one side, stuck one finger in his ear as if to clean it, and blinked a few times. “Excuse me? You might just have to repeat that; I don't hear too well.”

“You're a good-looking man,” Chase said, shrugging. “Surely you didn't think it was your _physical_ faults that kept the women at bay?”

“No, there was never a doubt in my mind that it was because of my overpowering kindness and love of people pleasing,” House quipped, grimacing before downing his fourth shot ( _When did he drink the third?_ ).

“Well, if it hadn't been for the fact that you're quite the bastard, you would have had them running after you,” Chase concluded, downing the rest of his drink. Then he got up. “I need another one of these,” he said, “d'you want more?”

House shook his head, reaching for the salt this time.

When Chase returned to the table, his employer was sitting in deep thought, arms crossed over his chest, leg stretched out stiffly to one side.

“You're gay,” House said suddenly, making Chase give a start. “Why didn't you ever mention it?”

“No one asked,” Chase said, sitting down with his drink again. “What, should I have brought it up at my interview? ´Good morning, doctor House. My name is Robert Chase and I'm a puff; hope that won't be a problem.”

House gave him a look of annoyance. “You never mentioned any dates.”

“Didn't find an opening. Besides, I didn't want to out you in front of your colleagues.”

“And that's not what you did today?” House said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No, I called you a pansy,” Chase corrected him. “That's like calling you affected. So have no fear on that account.”

“Well, cheers for small blessings,” House said, taking another shot.

“You don't think you should go a bit easy on the booze?” Chase said, eyebrows raised. House had only two left to complete the lucky number.

“Nope. I'm resistant as a resilient bacteria.”

“Oh dear, going into alliteration already?” Chase said, smirking. “I think you've had far too much to drink, doc.”

“No, I haven't,” House said. “I'm just in a foul mood.”

***

Chase had to hand it to him; House could handle his liqueur. Seven plus six shots later – ending on thirteen; a very lucky number indeed – he was still steady as a rock on his feet. Which was more than could be said for Chase; he'd had all of five drinks and was beginning to feel ever so slightly light-headed. He never had had a stomach for anything stronger than beer.

Not that he stumbled as they made their way out of the bar at about midnight, but he knew he was sporting a less than flattering grin, and that he felt comfortably warm and relaxed despite the cold February night.

“I'm passing by your place on the way home,” House said. “Come on.”

“No, you're not,” Chase said, frowning. “That'll bring you a lot of blocks away from the way to your place.”

“A lot of blocks?” House imitated, posh Oxford accent in place. “You're a drunk Australian. You couldn't find your way back if there were yellow arrows on the pavement.”

“I am not that drunk,” Chase insisted. “I can still list all the organs in the abdominal area.”

“And I can tell the difference between a needle and a pair of scissors; that doesn't make me a tailor. Come on. You'll get raped, mugged and beaten up before you've gone three blocks, and you're of no use to the team or the hospital if you're suffering a trauma,” House said, voice brisk.

Chase hoped more than thought that there was some concern for his well-being somewhere under there.

***

“Why don't you come up for a drink?” Chase said, hoping his voice didn't sound too hopeful. He didn't know at which point he'd realized House seemed like just his type, but it had to be somewhere between admitting he was handsome and learning that Gregory House was just as gruff, bitter, rude and mysterious once you got past the surface.

“We've been drinking all night,” House said. “The only thing you should be drinking is water. At least a gallon of it.”

“Coffee, then,” Chase persisted, refusing to let this opportunity to get closer to the older man, pass. “Coffee and lots of water.”

“You've been stuck with me for close to five hours straight,” House said, sounding somewhat incredulous. “Aren't you desperate to get out of my sight?”

“No.” Chase took half a step closer to the older man. “Black or with cream?”

House looked to the sky as if to gain control of himself. “Black, no sugar. And a bottle of H20, if you've got any.”

They ascended the stairs to Chase's flat without a word passing between them. Once inside, they threw their coats over the nearest chair and proceeded into the living room.

“Nice place,” House said neutrally.

Chase went into the kitchen area to put the coffee to boil. “Thanks. Kitchen, living room and one bedroom; it's not much, but it's enough.”

Once they were seated in the couch and chair, each nursing a mug of coffee, Chase began a deeper study of the man opposite him. The stubbles were a definite attraction; Chase could never resist a real man. And the eyes; House could bitch about it as much as he wanted, but that steely blue colour of his sweater made his eyes glint an even clearer blue.

Further down, there was the leg. Not exactly hot, but not off-putting either. A good physique, absolutely delicious hands and broad shoulders. And the cane, of course. Did Chase have a fetish involving submission and spankings? Maybe. And if he did, that cane would have been perfect for it.

“You're staring.”

House's gruff comment shook him out of his reverie, and he smiled coyly at the other man.

“And if I am?”

“It's impolite,” House said, looking somewhat – _Could it be possible?_ \- uncomfortable. “And I don't like the look in your eyes.”

“Why not?” Chase demanded. “If you were half as good a people reader as you think you are, you'd recognize it.”

“Well, maybe I do, and that's exactly why I don't like it,” House snarked. “Or are you going to tell me that you are not giving me the once-over?”

“No, I am openly looking at you,” Chase said easily, feeling as warm and relaxed as ever. “Why shouldn't I? I thought we'd already established that you're gorgeous.”

House choked on his coffee. “The term we agreed on was good-looking!” he insisted, coughing. “And even if I am gorgeous, you are drunk. Didn't your mother ever teach you that alcohol is bad for your judgement?”

“If you drink enough,” Chase conceded. “But I haven't had nearly enough. I'll admit to lowered inhibitions; nothing more.”

“Nothing more!” House scoffed. “You're close to liver damage!”

“I am most certainly not,” Chase said, smirking and getting up to join House in the couch. The older man twitched and tried moving away to give Chase more space, but the younger man sat as close to him as could be considered decent. “Lowered inhibitions and increased confidence. The very reason they serve cocktails at parties.”

“Your judgement is impaired,” House insisted, leaning away as Chase leaned ever so slightly closer. “Your coordination skills can't be too good, either.”

“I know how much alcohol I can handle, thank you very much,” Chase stated. “And you're avoiding the important issue here: you haven't said anything about being interested or not.”

“I'm... That is completely beside the point,” House said, as calmly as he could with Chase's hand -

“You're touching my thigh.”

“No shit, Sherlock?” Chase laughed, moving closer still. “It's kind of part of the whole I'm-trying-to-get-into-your-knickers thing.”

“I do not wear knickers,” House said evasively. “I wear very manly boxer shorts.”

“I'll bet,” Chase said, subconsciously licking his lips. “Can't wait to see them.”

“You are not – I mean, what... Shit!” he exclaimed, feeling Chase slide his hand up towards the area of his anatomy that had been sadly neglected for too long.

“See? I knew you couldn't be completely indifferent,” Chase said smugly, brushing his hand over the growing bulge in House's jeans.

“Chase,” the older man said, voice restrained. “You're a nice guy. And you're pretty. Don't argue with me,” he said before Chase could protest, “you're prettier than most girls and nothing but a car accident will change that.

“But fact remains, you're drunk and I'm a miserable old bastard. You'd wake up hating yourself in the morning.”

“And since when did you care?” Chase persisted, quickly straddling House's legs before he had time to push him off. “It's just my mental well-being on the line here. Not something you'd sacrifice your lay of the decade for, am I right?”

“If you keep doing that, yes, you are,” House said, voice faltering slightly as Chase dipped his head to breathe hot air over the older man's earlobe. “Last chance. Stop, hand me my coat and then go to bed with a bottle of water. We don't have to talk about this again.”

“No, we don't,” Chase agreed. “But that doesn't depend on whether we have sex or not.”

“Do you really think I'm that cheap?” House said with an attempt at sarcasm. He failed spectacularly when Chase finally latched onto his throat and began sucking for all he was worth.

“Mmm,” was the only reply from the blonde.

House gave a sigh of defeat and slowly let his hands gain hold of the younger man's hips. “Drag it, you're right. I'm not only that cheap; I am that desperate.”

“Loser,” Chase smiled against the skin of his throat, revelling in the feel of House's hands on his hips. Strong, warm and sensual. Letting his hips rock against the older man's, Chase lapped at every inch of skin he could reach and slowly put his hands on House's shoulders.

“Chase,” House began, but the man in question silenced him quickly by letting agile fingers play over his chest.

“No. For once, just shut up and enjoy yourself.”

House did. Amazingly, mind-bogglingly, Gregory House did exactly as he was told. He leaned back in the couch, hands pulling absently on the hips grinding into his own, and sighed as Chase's lips began mapping unfamiliar territory with a vengeance. Roving down his throat, the lips were preceded by fingers who opened the buttons in his shirt.

When Chase's mouth reached his collar bone, House let his head fall back and waited for the inevitable.

Chase was having a blast. He was kissing playfully along House's skin, taking in the scent of pure man and aftershave. He felt his lips grow raw from coarse stubble and didn't care; he finally got the other man's shirt off him and immediately went to work on the tee shirt underneath.

“Still playing at being straight, I see,” Chase purred. “What's with the extra tee shirt?”

“Shut up, you whelp,” House said snarkily.

The tee shirt was off. Chase dived back to his self-appointed task and began nibbling his way down the older man's chest, stopping to pay intense attention to each nipple.

That drew a groan from the other man. When Chase's hands went to work at House's belt, the latter gave up and decided to join the game. He quickly and unceremoniously got rid of the younger man's shirt, noting that he did not wear a tee shirt.

“Not even a pink tank top?” House noted with some surprise that Chase was rather on the thin side, with a fine, boyish build. “And here I was, thinking you spent all your free time at the gym. Not too much to show for it, then?”

“Shut your gob,” Chase laughed, stretching and arching his back. “You know you want it.”

“Cliché.”

“Whatever. You've got no right to complain; I don't see your Mister Universe trophy.” The younger man was pleased with what he saw, but not in the least bit inclined to say so. Dark, sparse hair weaved a fine trail down House's chest and stomach, inducing Chase to run his hands down that line and dip his very fingertips below the waistband of the older man's jeans. Coarse, barely sun-kissed skin belied the man's apparent dislike for anything sunny and cheerful.

And the shoulders. _God, he's got gorgeous shoulders!_ Broad. A bit... edgy, if there was a word for the way the shoulder blades and sinew flexed underneath the skin when he moved. Chase stroked appreciative hands over the body parts in question, smiling slightly.

“Well, are you going to get moving or are you going to sit there all night admiring my shoulders?” House snarked, brushing the younger man's hands off and efficiently going to work on his belt.

“Eager bunny, eh?” Chase said, smirking. House the bunny. Foreman would just keel over and die if he ever heard.

“I could lie and say no, but that would make me a hypocrite,” House replied, having opened Chase's zip and his own buttoned fly. “Now get to your feet or I will have to take drastic measures to get your pants off.”

Chase stumbled to his feet and let House yank his trousers down his thighs. The older man left them there.

“Hey, I'm expecting the full works here,” Chase said with a laugh. “That'll be kind of difficult if I'm still dressed.”

House only stared at him for a moment, then got up – rather stiffly, all things considered.

“Then we'd better move to your bedroom. Now.”

Getting his trousers off in the process, Chase quickly led the way into his bedroom. The duvet was crumpled at the foot of the bed; he was never one for tidying up after himself.

Standing there in just his deep red shorts, he turned to House and looked expectantly at the older man. “Well?”

“Well, what?” House said, wasting only a moment before beginning to push his own jeans down. “No need to worry; I am an opportunistic bastard and I'm going to take advantage before you change your mind.”

Chase eagerly dived in and began turning the older man around. There was something distinctively odd about the way he was leaning on his cane while trying to get his trousers off with one hand. Quickly pushing House back to sit on the bed, Chase began pulling hastily on the jeans and got them off.

“You were right. Very manly,” he smirked, looking over House's boxer shorts. They were black with grey stripes along the sides. Probably plain cotton, as opposed to Chase's silk ones.

“Can't say the same thing about yours,” House quipped, arching an eyebrow. “Now get your scrawny ass on the bed, pronto.”

“Yes, sir,” Chase said, expectantly moving in for the kill: he pushed House down until the older man was flat on his back on the bed, then straddled him again.

There was a slight pause as House hesitated, then placed steady fingers at the waistline of the Australian's last remaining garment. “The full works?”

“I hate to be vulgar, so yes, that's a good phrase for it.” Chase leant down over the gruff doctor lying miraculously still on his bed. “Am I to assume you usually top?”

“Damn right I do,” House said, trying to get up. Chase took advantage of his position and bucked a little against the hips underneath his own, placing his hands on House's shoulders.

“You can top all you want; I'm going to show you how to top from the bottom,” he said, near breathless with anticipation. House opened his mouth to protest, but Chase stifled his words with a kiss to his sternum. He'd never met a man who could resist a wet, open-mouthed kiss there.

“Shut up, lie still, and wait,” the younger man instructed, reaching for his bedside drawer. He found a condom and a tube of gel lubrication. He then proceeded to hastily remove his own shorts, making sure House got a good look, before going after those of his employer.

“No deficiency complexes, I trust?” Chase said with a smirk on his face. House looked as if he was about to get snarky, so the younger man simply pulled the shorts down – a bit difficult with the growing bulge contained in them, but he managed.

As soon as they were both naked, Chase decided he did not want to wait much longer. He removed the condom from its wrapping, then took the tip of it between his lips.

“I don't know what they told you in Sex Ed, but you're supposed to wear that, not eat it,” House said, looking confusedly at Chase as the younger man bent down towards his groin. With a smouldering look at House's face, the Australian placed his lips at the tip of his erection, then opened said lips and descended.

Gregory House let out a shuddering breath. Now there was a way of making a man want to wear condoms! The plump lips of the young doctor were clamped tight around him, slowly unrolling the thin rubber layer around him. It was followed by a tongue, smoothing the skin and rubber alike.

“Glad I had one left with raspberry flavour,” Chase said, almost _purring_. “I might have gagged on you if it was the banana.”

“Let me taste that,” House said, grabbing the younger man's neck unceremoniously and yanking him up until their lips touched. The blonde's eyes grew wide as their mouths were pressed together, and then a slick tongue tangled with his own.

“That's a sneaky way of stealing a kiss,” Chase said breathily.

House snorted. “Shut up. Who, in the entire hospital, hasn't been dying to thrust either his tongue or some other body part into that?”

Chase almost blushed before reminding himself that that was a compliment, coming from House. “Sure. D'you have any other... orifices in mind for that thrusting-thing?”

His only reply was a groan. He'd never heard anything even resembling that from House! It brought forth a fresh wave of need in himself.

It seemed the lube got everywhere before they were both slick in the right places. House's fingers quickly made their way to Chase's ass, slathering liberal amounts of the substance around the blonde's opening. Chase could barely breathe for anticipation; desperate to get something started, he carelessly gripped House's cock with a lube coated hand and stroked twice.

“Nngh,” House commented.

“Uh-huh,” Chase purred, moving into position and steadying himself on the older man's chest. He could feel the very head of House's erection pressing against him.

When he started sinking down onto it, he echoed House. “Ungh!”

Hands were gripping his hips hard, clutching and clawing. “God damn it, Chase, you could have told me sooner.”

“What?” The Australian was somewhat lacking in the language department at the present; he could hardly focus beyond the point that was House hard inside him.

“That you were gay and practically panting for it,” House said, voice strained with the control he clung to. “I would have had my way with you a lot sooner.”

“Mm,” Chase agreed, getting accustomed to the feeling of the other man inside him. He leaned back on his hands, rocking his hips for good measure. “Better make up for... lost time, then.”

House decided to shut the younger man up and rolled his hips upwards. The strangled moan that drew from the blonde, made his head feel a little fuzzy and he did it again.

“Lie still,” Chase insisted, “I said I was going to show you -”

“One does not top from the bottom, or whatever you said,” House grunted, stroking over the slim hip bones of the man above him.

“Oh, just you wait,” Chase grinned. He then proceeded to sit up straight, tossing his hair, and began moving. Thigh muscles flexing, he heaved himself up and down along House, drawing on the older man with a throaty sound of pleasure.

“I... stand corrected,” House gasped, feeling the other man thoroughly have his way with him; even with House's cock in his ass.

“Stand is just the word,” Chase said, smiling, rocking. “And if you – oh, shite!”

The younger man's face contorted in a grimace of disbelieving pleasure. His brows contracted, his lips fell provocatively open, his eyes widened. And the moan; oh hell, House thought, the moan he uttered!

“Right spot?” he panted, doing his best to thrust into Chase but leaving the work mostly to the Australian riding him.

“Bulls eye,” came the heated reply.

And House did it again, and again, until Chase was _whimpering_ and throwing his head back, exposing the taut tendons of his neck and his hammering pulse. He was close; so close...

“Get going, god dammit,” House groaned, hands clutching the younger man's hips desperately. “Or I -”

“Or you... shite... You're going – to – lose it?” Chase breathed, smirking despite the twitches around the corners of his mouth.

“Take care of myself regardless of whether you've had yours,” House corrected, thrusting viciously despite his uncooperative leg.

At his superior's sarcastic voice, Chase purred again and took himself in hand, stroking in time with the movements of the hard flesh inside him. “Whatever... whatever you say, boss.”

House groaned and bit his lower lip hard, desperately grasping at the pain to keep from spending himself inside the slim blonde. “Now, Chase!”

“No... just, just a little -” Chase gasped, eyes closing and head falling back. “Just -”

“ _Now_ ,” House demanded, grasping the younger man's hips and slamming them down against his own.

Chase came. Robert Chase gave a drawn-out sound of animal pleasure and came, spending himself over his hand, clenching around the man inside him and clawing at his abdomen with his other hand.

“God, Greg, yes!”

Hearing his first name from those whorish lips, House sneered at the younger man and thrust harder. “That's House to you, whelp.”

“Mm, Doctor House,” Chase purred, happily playing along. “Do you give all your patients this much attention, or am I the only one getting a _full physical_?”

House caved in; desperately trying to stop himself, he bucked wildly against the younger man, losing control and groaning his release as he filled Chase.

The deep, wolfish sound that rumbled from House's throat, sent delicious shivers through Chase and made him press closer to the word body beneath his own. _What a man, eh, Chase?_

“Well, fuck me sideways,” House panted, tumbling down the other side of his high. “I don't even want a Vicodin afterwards.” He removed himself from Chase, gently but decisively shoving the younger man off him.

“You know, _normal_ people have a fag, not a pill, after sex,” Chase commented, reaching for his bedside drawer. He had a pack of something, somewhere...

“Well, I just had a fag, you'll have to give me a few hours,” House said drily, snagging the smokes from Chase's relaxed grip.

“It's slang, you dolt,” Chase insulted, knowing full well the older man was making a lame joke. “You know, your insults and snarky comments totally fall to pieces after sex.”

“Oh, shut your mouth. I've been celibate for a number of years now, and then you come along and try to educate me in modern homosexuality. You're lucky those Vicodins work as an aphrodisiac.”

“They do?”

“No. Now shut it and let me smoke in peace.”

“Fine. But you know, celibacy and aphrodisiacs don't work well together...”

A slight pause. Then,

“No, I guess they don't, do they? Prepare yourself for a lot of late night shifts doing paperwork in my office, Chase.”

“On your desk?”

“Yes. And the chair. Possibly the filing cabinet, if I can work out the coordination of various body parts for that particular activity.”

“And the MRI room?”

“Now that's just sick, Chase. Even I am not that much of a pervert.”


End file.
